Her Strength to Survive
by First Blush
Summary: Intelligence Operative Bella Swan is thrown into the middle of hell as her mission through war torn London disintegrates around her.  Follow her struggle to survive for the man she loves and the child she won't forget.  ONE SHOT set in London during 1944
1. Chapter 1 Surrender

_**Twilight character names belong to Stephenie Meyer. The inspiration for TLB is credited to Lavender Mornings by Jude Deveraux. No copyright infringement is intended. **_Thank you Adt216 and u2shay, my amazing betas, for walking me through this process._****_

_****This story was originally donated for the Fandom Gives Back Autism Awareness fundraiser. **** The link can be found on my profile page. **** Special thanks go out to all readers who's generosity has helped this worthy cause.****_

This one shot opens in late June, 1944. Bella is an operative working in London for Project Ultra. Edward is a soldier stationed in France**_. _**At this time of this story, Allied troops were still trying to break through the German defenses and liberate Paris.**_  
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><p><strong>Surrender<strong>

**BPOV**

"You'll leave in an hour."

My father's grave face betrayed him. He was worried. He worried for Carson…he worried for me. My temporary partner and I both nodded in response and turned to leave the colonel's office. I worked constantly to keep his name as colonel, or simply, sir, in my thoughts. To repeat his _real _name, Charlie, father, or _dad_, would likely get both of us killed. We turned in unison and made way to the door. I slipped through, not wanting to turn back, but my duty betrayed me. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head, and leaving without a private glance back at him was unacceptable.

"Bella," my father called out as if he'd read my mind.

"Yes, sir?" I asked, but it wasn't really necessary. I knew what he wanted. I could only tell him I loved him with my eyes. Any other action would have betrayed us both.

"Be careful."

"Yes, sir."

I nodded slightly, my signal that I loved him too. My eyes dropped to the floor, and I turned before either of us could give the other away.

The click of the locks of my leather luggage snapped beneath my fingertips. I was fumbling and the clasp pinched down on my finger. The sudden sharp pain caused me to jump. The injured hand went to my mouth while my free hand covered my no longer flat stomach.

_I'm sorry I startled you, baby, _I thought.

The flutters began in early March. The first time I understood what it was, I nearly spat all of my morning coffee on Victoria. We were reading the paper about an hour before the first report of the morning was due in and the kick just happened. I've heard it described as something like soda bubbles or gas. For me it was nothing of the sort. It was a strong, _hello, Mama, I'm here. I'm growing, and I'm just as strong as you are. _And she is. I don't know why I refer to the baby as her or my girl. A feeling, I guess. I just always see a little girl in my head. She's toddling around in pigtails and running from my tickling fingers and straight into her father's arms. That's how I see her when I dream. That's how I see her, with sticky fingers from a popsicle treat offering orange slobbery kisses to Edward. The drip from her chin against the flush of her cold lips and fingers makes Edward laugh and shiver all at the same time.

My finger still throbs as I lift my skirt and tie the loose strings of the pillow around my waist. Shelley had spent the last hour creating a false "belly" for me to tie into position. Little did anyone know that it wouldn't be much longer before I wouldn't need a pillow at all to pull of the mission. With the pillow in place, I straightened the wrinkles of my clothing and stared at my image in the mirror.

_My God, if Edward knew what I was doing…_

I immediately stop this train of thought. This is my job. This is what I'm good at. And most importantly, I'm the only female in the unit who can pull off the cover.

When I first discovered I was pregnant, I sat half the night on the floor of the loo and wept. I'd been sick for days and it was only after a week of intermittent bouts of nausea that I recognized the symptoms were more than a stomach ailment, that I _could be_ pregnant. I prayed, God I prayed for it to be true. Days stretched into weeks until I was sure I was with child. I cried out of happiness and relief, thanking God for my husband and the blessing of his baby. What better gift could I ask for than the knowledge that I carry a very real piece of Edward with me wherever I went?

Not long after I discovered the pregnancy, we started carrying more and more intel on Normandy. It was then that the happiness over my child morphed into new fear for its father. Staying in Ultra was the only way I could keep tabs on Edward's unit and do my part to make sure Normandy was a success. I had to make sure he survived. No advantage for the Allies was too small. No bit of information could be sacrificed. Too many lives were depending on it, including my own. The paralyzing thought of a life without Edward sealed my decision. My pregnancy would remain a secret for as long as I could possibly keep it.

_We're going to be fine,_ I tell myself as I pull on my sweater. _We're all going to be fine._

~aa~AA~aa~

The car lurches and rolls quickly right as Carson maneuvers us around giant pot holes in the pavement. I clamp my jaw down in hope to avoid biting off my tongue. I can barely make out the road before me and have no idea how Carson is managing to not kill us both.

"You okay back there, Bella?"

I must have made a squeak or some other sound to remind him of my presence. Carson has been utterly silent for the first twenty minutes of our drive. We are almost to Harlesden, west of London. The idiocy of the situation is not lost on me. We never do night drops. It's too dangerous. Something must be changing, to require the pass of intel in the middle of the night. Last week's bombings come to mind and I shudder.

"I'm fine, Carson, just keep your eyes on the road; don't pay me any mind. I'm fine."

Carson doesn't reply, and for this, I'm grateful. He needs to concentrate on the road. My effort not to throw up in the back of the Packard is more than I can manage at the moment, let alone adding polite conversation to the task. I allow my eyes to close and think again of Edward. My memories of him help me relax or at least take my mind away from the moment at hand. In my mind I see his beautiful green eyes pin me as he strolls through our bedroom in the old vicarage.

_It's our wedding night, and I'm standing in my garter and nothing else. He's there, breathless, carrying two dishes of wedding cake and an armful of other food items. He skids to a stop, taking in my lack of clothing. I inwardly smile as I know his reaction better than he does. I want to say something witty or rude, but my mouth won't form the words. His eyes, God, his beautiful eyes stare through to my soul. My mouth dries, and I can only hope he likes what he sees or moves before I die of embarrassment and run to hide beneath the covers. I want him to want me. I need it. I crave it. _

_The dishes and the food he was carrying are gone. He's moving too fast for me to comprehend. I hear the clang of the dishes. Before I can look to see if they've fallen on the floor, his mouth is on mine and my mind goes blank. I can only feel. His lips are insistent, his movements frantic. He's whispering words in my ear of love and affection. I know I should be paying attention to what he's saying, but when his lips reach my neck and trail down my chest, all conscious thought goes out the window. _

_My feet have left the floor and feathers are floating around me like snowflakes made of down. My head is cradled in his hands as he makes love to me. We are not yet joined as husband and wife but he is making love to me all the same. His mouth, his hands, his breaths, all call out to me, they tell me he loves me. They worship me with the beauty of his gentle touch. Gentle? He's being gentle? I should expect no less from the lover than I do the man. He is gentle with me. That's not to say he doesn't challenge me, but he is gentle when I need him to be. There are topics he doesn't broach because I cannot answer them, my family, my mother, my past. I've decided I do not want gentle. That's what I should want, but I don't. I want to feel. The push and pull I have with Edward makes me feel alive. We have right now, this day, this moment. Nothing else is guaranteed and I need to feel it, remember it, for the fears that crawl in the back of my mind tell me that someday this memory will help me survive. I lace my fingers into Edward's wavy strands and pull. I don't need to pull hard for him to respond. I see worry in his eyes, that he was doing something wrong. I hate that my insistence is making him second guess himself. I say the words that will help him understand. I love you. I need you. His mouth is back on mine and our push and pull begins again. I am alive. I am lit up by his touch. My body arches into him begging for more. He is on his forearms; his hands cradle the back of my head. He pauses. I can feel the tip of him, but it's the look in his eyes that undoes me. He's asking. I nod. He pushes gently. His forehead falls to my collar bone, his body shakes above me. He feels me tense and he stops. He's trying so hard to control everything when in fact there is precious little we can control. I wrap my calves around the back of his thighs and pull. He relents. I break and swallow my scream. It hurts, but I am alive to feel it. I am alive and wanted in his arms. _

_Our chests both heave but for different reasons. He's grasping to maintain the threads of his control. I'm putting all of my effort into relaxing. The pain recedes. My hand's shake, but I am determined. I move slowly over his hair, his nose, his lips. My right hand trails down over his Adam's apple while the left drags my fingernails across the clipped hairs at the back of his neck. My right hand travels down his long neck, over his collar bone. My fingertips trace his tensing muscles that hold him over me. I stop when I reach his heart. I can feel it pounding beneath my fingertips. _

_ "Mine," I whisper._

_ Edward moans again. His head falls forward and I feel his whisper upon my lips._

_ "Yours. Always."_

The car lurches again and this time I'm violently thrown left into the glass of the rear passenger window. I'm snapped from my dream and back into reality with the crack of my skull. My mind whirls as the pain echoes in my head. Once more, my hand rests on my stomach and I use the image of our daughter to settle me. Sticky fingers and juicy orange lips are offered from a two year old little girl in pigtails. Her father laps each of them laughing and tickling her until the remnants of the twin pop falls from her fingers and onto the boiling sidewalk beneath her sandy toes.

_God, Edward needs this. He needs her. We'll survive for him, little one. I promised._

Edward would have tried to ship me home if he'd been in London when I discovered I was pregnant. But he's not. He's in France pushing forward after D-day. I've heard nothing. Nothing in months, but still I write. Nearly every day I write. I tell him of our child, how she grows and kicks inside me. I pray the news gives him strength.

We've passed the outskirts of Earlsfield and have begun to file through the streets of town proper. The outline of a large building with a steeple and then a playground come into view. Finally, I see people spilling out onto the street from a building near the top of the street. Carson's nerves are already as tight as piano strings. Avoiding pedestrians in a blackout was not part of the plan. I'm so struck by the sight, wondering why all of these people are out at eleven o'clock at night. The streets are dark as they should be and yet there are enough folks out here that it appears as though they are leaving some social event. The faces I can see appear to be happy, if not smiling. Then one after another, I see the faces turn skyward and the smiles that had graced their faces only seconds earlier turn to panic. I can see each person we pass, the moment the recognition hits their faces. I turn the crank and roll down the window until I too hear the noise. It's as loud as a motorcycle engine and growing louder by the second. People are running, fleeing in all directions as realization turns to chaos. I listen hard above the shouts and watch the pedestrians. They appear to be running in the same direction our vehicle is moving. As if the danger will fall behind us.

"Carson, step on it!"

I know the words come out of my mouth. I hear them in my ears. I feel the rev of the engine and the force of my body being pulled further back into the seat bench. The urgent need to pick up the pace is paired with the feel of my sweaty hands gripping the seat cover. I hold on for dear life.

In the end it is all futile anyway. The new pace only speeds us closer to the falling munition. My grip becomes useless against the impact of the car flipping on its side. The explosion is loud, white hot and nearly incomprehensible. Carson swerves. The car jumps a curb, hitting a lamp post causing us to both spin and flip simultaneously. I'm thrown against various surfaces of the interior of the cab until the grinding and glass breaking finally ends. Conversely, the fire has only begun.

I scream Carson's name but nothing moves. Ash and burning debris rain down on the vehicle. I cough and spit as I try to rouse myself and determine what side of Hell's end, or what used to be the vehicle, I'm resting against. Its hard surface is pushed up and something is painfully jabbing my side. I press my hand flat against the door and try to sit. I immediately regret moving. My stomach lurches until the contents spew against the floor and the back of the seat in front of me.

"Carson," I try again as I moan in pain.

My senses are coming back slowly. The pain hits first, followed second by the smell. The acrid scent of burning wood and rubber fills the cab. My eyes blink in a futile effort to focus and ward off the smoke. It's my hearing that is the last to come back to me. I am almost grateful for this. Right now I can barely hear the screams surrounding me. I crawl forward wincing in pain as I put pressure on my hand. My wrist is surely broken. I look for Carson in the front seat. He is nowhere I can see. I feel for him, lest the smoke play tricks on my mind, but there is nothing of him here. A gaping hole in the windshield is stark evidence confirming my fears. I climb, grasping the steering wheel with my uninjured hand for support. I need to be sure he's not beneath the floor boards. Somehow I know he's not there, but I need to be sure before I fully give in to the idea that he's been thrown from the Packard and is likely dead. Instead of finding my partner, my fingers feel the false floorboard.

_The intel._

My mind scrambles to adapt to the situation. I need to get the intel out. The hidden latch is slow to turn beneath my fingertips. I pull myself higher trying to get just a little bit more leverage to open the lever. My torso strains against the bench as I inch forward…_then I feel her move._

_ Dear God._

In that horrible second I'm caught between the job as operative and the role of mother. God answers my silent prayer, the lever releases. The intel is pressed against my bosom as I strain to crawl through the hole in the windshield. I feel the glass scrape my fingers and my forearms, but the sweet breaths of fresher air call to me.

_Come on, Bella,_ I urge myself. _We've got to get out of here._

Despite the false pillow beneath my skirt, I remove my sweater and press it against the broken glass give added protection to my baby. New pain hits me as I manage inch by inch through the shattered ring. It is not in my hands. It is not in my forearms or even my head. Sweat pools between my shoulder blades, but the cause of it is not the heat of exertion or the late June temperature. The heat and the pain are one. I ignore them for now; I have to get out. I need fresh air or we both will die. My body lands hard on the sidewalk. My shoulder hits first, followed by my head and finally my hip. The pain is worse now, so much worse, but I'm too dizzy and disoriented to do anything but blink against the darkness flooding my vision.

"She's on fire!" a nearby voice screams.

In my haze I realize the screaming woman means me. The nauseating smell is my own flesh. There is a crowd. There are blankets. There is a flurry of patting and pounding, and it's all I can do to wrap my arms protectively around my stomach. One man realizes what I'm doing and I hear him call out for help screaming.

"She's pregnant. Get _her_ to the ambulance first!"

I'm desperately trying to hold onto the image of her pigtails and Edward's happy face, but they slip through my fingers like smoke, until it all goes black.

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><p><em>AN: __Thanks for reading and let me know what you think._

_-FirstBlush_

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><p><strong>Surrender Historical Research and Reference Guide:<strong>

**Story reference: **Bella envisions a little girl with sticky popsicle hands running to her father.

**Historical Significance: **Popsicles were invented in 1905. Twin Popsicles (two popsicles sticks together) were invented during the Great Depression.

**Source:**http:/inventors(dot)about(dot)com/library/inventors/blpopsicle(dot)htm

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><p><strong>Story reference: <strong>Bella's Packard, carrying intelligence information is struck by the remnants of a V1 flying bomb.

**Historical Significance: **The first V-1 bombing takes place one week after D-day, June 13, 1944 and continues at a rate of up to 1,000 per day in SE England.

**Source: **http:/en(dot)wikipedia(dot)org/wiki/V-1_%28flying_bomb%29

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><p><strong>Story reference: <strong>Bella and Carson are traveling through Earlsfield in South London when a V-1 hits the town.

**Historical Significance: **German V-1 planes came straight across the Channel over Croydon, Tooting, Earlsfield, Putney and Wandsworth, and into central London, this area became known as Doodlebug Alley

**Source: **http:/www(dot)bbc(dot)co(dot)uk/ww2peopleswar/stories/17/a4432817(dot)shtml


	2. Chapter 2 Surrender pt 2

_**Twilight character names belong to Stephenie Meyer. The inspiration for TLB is credited to Lavender Mornings by Jude Deveraux. No copyright infringement is intended.**_

**_To my betas, thank you! Adt216 you have amazing patience with my comma problem, and u2shay, thank you for encouraging me to donate to this fundraiser._**

_A/N: _This chapter is a continuation of the last.

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><p><em>Bella wakes in early July after the bombing in Earlsfield. While Edward is battling on the front lines, Bella is battling for her life. <em>

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><p><strong>Surrender - part 2<strong>

The morphine is my blessing and my curse. When it drips through my veins, there is relief. It is a hazy world where I barely hear or smell or see. I have no dreams. I'm in a numb state where time passes without my active participation. I only recognize that I have no conscious thought when I awaken from the stupor in agony. The few muscles I can control tense and beg for more relief, but I try my damnedest not to allow myself any more than what is necessary for my body to sleep. For when I am in my drug induced bliss, I can no longer feel my child.

I need her. I need her like I need air to breathe. She keeps me sane through the agony. My lips press together and I hum to her. The notes are disjointed and unrecognizable to anyone but me, but still I try. I want her to know some comfort of me. When I can manage the breaths, I talk to her. I tell her I love her as does her father. My shaky hand covers my belly as we talk. I ask her what she wants to be named. When she kicks, I strike the name off the list. It feels wrong to pick her name without Edward by my side. The baby and I haven't picked a first name yet, but we've both seemed to be settled on Marie as a middle name. As I think of names, I tell her of the important women in my life. She hears about my mother and of finding a best friend in Alice. She knows all about Siobhan and how she arranged for her father and me to have our first picnic. It helps to remember pleasant things.

When I can bear no more speaking, I close my eyes and pray.

~aa~

Today I am conscious enough to speak to the doctor at my bedside. He tells me I've been here for two weeks. He tells me that Carson is dead. I ask about notifying my family. He tells me that they've called my husband, Carson's, mother. The servants have informed him that my in-laws are visiting other family in Scotland. A servant came to retrieve the messages for them. I'm conscious enough to process that my father knows what happened. The switchboard, not a butler answered the call at my "late husband's" address. It's also certain that another operative, not a servant, came to pick up the messages. The intel was transferred. It wasn't all for naught.

~aa~

My belly grows; she is more active. This too is a blessing and a curse. Feeling her turn inside me helps me. She is doing well. She is surviving inside of me. The pain of her sudden movements tears against my paper thin composure. I try to muffle my cries; they always bring the staff with more morphine. It is a vicious cycle. I want to feel her and I know the medication makes her sleep as it does me. Part of me worries if that's all it does to her. The staff is kind. They do their best for me, but there is doubt in their eyes, always doubt. They don't know me and have no reason to believe I'll live through this, but I will. I made a promise.

~aa~

Her name is Serena. It's decided. She seems happy with my choice; I pray Edward will be as well. She bears the name of three women I dearly love. Sibohan, who brought Edward and I together, Renee, my mother, and Alice, the friend who couldn't be more of a sister to me if she were my own flesh and blood.

_**Si**_obhan – _**Ren**_ee – _**A**_lice ~ _Serena_.

She receives this name for another reason; she is my serenity, my little bundle of peace after the hell of the bombing that night. She is a tangible piece of Edward that I carry inside of me. I soldier on through the pain until she can survive on her own. I won't let her down.

I share my choice with the one nurse I feel understands my fight. Her name is Lauren. She holds a sadness of her own in her eyes. It's always in the eyes. The words that come out of a person's mouth tell only part of the story, and that is only if they're being truthful. It's the eyes, the body language that I dissect. I learned this in the OSS. Her eyes tell me she is afraid, of what I'm not quite sure. I don't have the presence of mind to ask. I barely keep my eyes open long enough to see and recognize her face before the prick of morphine returns me to a near drunken state of consciousness. I am dizzy. I can't see properly but part of me is still conscious enough to feel the pain. It is muted now. I close my eyes.

~aa~

The pain is bad today. I can't talk to Serena at all. My humming is overshadowed by cries. I ask for Edward's St. Christopher's medal. He had given it to me right before he left for the front. It had hung around my neck every day since then until I arrived here. I'm grateful to have it right now. This little piece of him comforts me and reminds me of my promise to him. They take it from me when I sleep or when I'm too unconscious to know it's gone. Sometimes I hear it, the moment my fingertips give way and it clinks against the floor beneath my bed.

I'm wracked by a new pain in my back. I ask the nurse why the pain travels there. Her eyes widen and I know. I beg, I plead, I cry. She shushes me and feels my stomach. I cry out. My stomach feels hard. It's always hard, but this is as if a metal bowl was lying beneath my skin and is being shrunk around my child. She wipes my forehead and tells me she'll be gone for only a minute before she lets go of my hand. It's in that moment I hear Edward's medal strike the floor.

~aa~

Other nurses are here with Lauren and Dr. Varner. They lift my legs to help me push, but the agony from the burns steals my strength. I try. I beg and plead for them to make it stop. She's not ready to be born. I've lost track of time but know from the looks on their faces that I'm right. Dr. Varner's eyes betray him. He refuses to look at me. He's decided I've had enough. He looks down and gives an order to one of the nurses. I feel a mask cover my face and arms restrain my hands. The smell of the ether fills the mask, but I refuse to breathe it in. I want to be awake for this. I want to see my daughter born. I don't trust the eyes that won't look at me, that don't have faith in me. I move my chest pretending to draw in the ether. Finally I can take no more. My lungs are screaming for air. My ragged breaths suck in the poison. My body stills but I can still feel. I know the difference between the morphine haze and complete unconsciousness. I hear what goes on around me. I feel their hands pushing down on my stomach. The pain of her birth is followed by the sweetest sound of my life..._her cry._

~aa~

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

My ears hear the words, but my mind won't comprehend it. I tell her she was not stillborn. I tell her I heard my baby's cry. Apparently I've been out for days, the result of enough morphine to put me into oblivion. My child, confirmed a baby girl, is dead. The body needed to be buried, and after two days, they couldn't wait any longer.

I don't believe Lauren. She won't look me in the eye.

Dr. Varner is gone. He left while I was unconscious. His tour is over, and he's headed back to the United States. I yell and scream. They think I am insane, overcome with grief. A needle prick is their answer and the darkness takes over once more.

~aa~

"We're transporting you to another hospital today. Your in-laws have seen fit to move you to a convalescent hospital in Stoneleigh Park."

I am in a semi lucid state. Without the fear of injuring the baby, it seems as though morphine is the answer to my agitation. It is a way to silence me; I'm sure of it. God, I pray it is or else I really am going insane. I have no child in my arms, no clutching fingers or full lips to suckle at my breast. I am empty. Edward's medal never leaves my body. I've forbidden them from touching it. They've acquiesced as it stays around my neck, morning noon and night. I need a piece of him with me.

_Serena, my sweet baby girl, _I cry.

My whole heart aches to touch her. I'd gladly pass through the pain of the bombing every day to know she was safe. Desperation hits me and I grasp at any straw I can to bring me through this.

_Dad knows. If they're sending me to a military hospital, my dad knows and he'll help me. He'll find her. I just need someone to believe me. _

My body is wrapped. I'm draped and covered, secured to a rolling bed and moved from my room. It's the first time my eyes have rested upon anything other than the four walls of my hospital room. Those in the hall part around my bed like the Red Sea. They look grave. If my fingers are any indication of my face, I am gaunt, thin and pale. But it is always the eyes that reveal everything. If any of them would just look into my eyes, they'd know I'm not the corpse they think I am. I know what they're thinking, but I won't just roll over and die. If I give up before I can tell my father, we lose her. Edward will lose it all. I can't; I made my promise.

~aa~

Dr. Cullen's eyes are kind. They are the deepest blue I've ever seen in my life. He sits on a stool beside my bed and holds my hand as he speaks. It is the first time in a month that I've been touched as a human, not as a patient. The gesture brings me to tears. A handkerchief is held over Dr. Cullen's shoulder. He turns and takes it from a woman a half generation older than me. I see kindness in her eyes; she is earnest as well. Dr. Cullen wipes my tears for me. He speaks softly and tells me what he's going to do. His voice is gentle, experienced, and reassuring. In layman's terms he tells me that in order to heal the remnants of my burned skin must be cut away and replaced with healthy skin. I look in his eyes as he speaks; I see something new, frustration or perhaps disgust. His mouth does not tell me he feels I've received substandard care, but those blue eyes betray his thoughts. He checks to see that I am still lucid. I nod and he continues. He will peel a thin layer of good skin from my thighs and sew it over the exposed skin on my lower legs and feet. The words are ghastly to hear, let alone to imagine what they are about to do to me. Dr. Cullen reads my body's response to his words. He places warm, soft fingers against my gown and over my collarbone. His eyes stare into mine as he tells me to follow his breaths, slow, easy and controlled. The aftereffects of the smoke from that night do not make it easy for me to take full breaths, but still I try. I believe him when he tells me that this is the way to get better. That the tunnel will be dark, but there is a way through it. There is another side.

Dr. Cullen is speaking again, and my mind snaps back to the present. He will sedate me. I'll likely be unconscious for the better part of a week. My body will need a minimum amount of time to heal before I can be expected to make further progress. He is doing his job as a physician, but I know what he's not saying. No one can remain conscious for this procedure, morphine or no. I nod as if I understand, but in truth, I am trying to wrap my mind around his words. When he is done, will I look like a monster of Dr. Frankenstein's imagination? What will Edward think? How will he see me after all of this? I close my eyes, and the words he said before he left come flooding back to me.

"_What does this mean to you?" he shouts as he holds up his wedding band before my eyes. "I don't know what it means to you right now, but it sure as hell means forever to me!"_

I had hurt him because I lost faith in him. I try very hard to remember the man who pled with me before he left. He always wanted to protect me. This was the main reason for my initial dislike of my future husband. He would do anything to keep me safe from harm, including keeping me from the job I loved most. I thought he was just like every other chauvinistic pig who thought a woman shouldn't be in intelligence. Who thought their light sensibilities were better served by keeping house. I ignored the honesty in his eyes, forgoing my strongest skill, for foolish pride.

Dr. Cullen stands. He's looking for an answer. I nod; there is really no choice. Edward's voice calls out in my mind.

"_Listen to me. I do believe in you, and you have to take care of yourself because I won't be here to do it for you." _

My bed moves beneath me. I'm rolling down a series of corridors until swinging doors open before me and I am in a large sterile room. Many people surround my bed. I am lifted and transferred to a new bed. They try to be gentle. I can see it in the strain on their faces but still it hurts. I cry out. The nurse with the earnest face is talking to me. Her hand sweeps gently over the hair at the top of my head. She is gentle and soothing. She tells me to have faith. I nod; little does she know that this is the only thing keeping me alive inside. A mask comes across my face; I tense remembering Serena's birth. The gentle woman takes my hand in hers and continues to sweep my hair. Her fingers wipe the tears falling from the corner of my eyes. I see her eyes water too.

"Sleep, sweet child," she tells me. "I'll be here when you wake."

I take in my fill of the mask. My eyes grow heavy. Her voice is the last thing I hear before it all goes black.

"Don't lose faith, Isabella, we'll get you well."

~aa~

She is there when I wake, watching over me like her own newborn babe. Her eyes are tired, but the light in them grows when she sees that mine are open. She tells me she'll be right back with Dr. Cullen. Before she goes, I finally read the name on the tag above her left shoulder "Platt."

"How is your pain tolerance, Mrs. Masen?"

I recognize two things in his statement. One, he expects me to be in pain, and two, he knows my real name. My legs are on fire. I mean, I can look down at the bed and see the tent that keeps the bedclothes off of my legs. Consciously I know there is no fire, but the pain is nearly the same. There is no smell of burning flesh, only sterile antiseptic.

"We want you to be awake for a little while; I'm going to give you enough morphine to take the edge off of your pain."

He moves before I respond and begins his assessment as my physician. Nurse Platt raises a glass bottle. I'm familiar enough with what she's doing to know that relief will come soon. I will come to learn more about my doctor, but for now, I see him as human being first, physician second. He asks my permission before he lays hands on me. I appreciate this. I'm tired of feeling inhuman, of having no choice in what remains of my life.

Once the formalities are done and Nurse Platt has recorded all of my statistics, he sits beside me. He too has tired eyes.

"How do you know my name?" I rasp.

He holds a small glass of water for me to sip. He answers as I take the water down greedily.

"Colonel Swan placed you here. I am to report to him twice a week on your care. Only a few records followed you here from Mill Hill and the ones that did were transcribed from the original hospital's paperwork."

He doesn't ask for explanation, and I offer none. My father is keeping our program secret from this man, and yet he trusts him enough to share my real name and his. Again, the frustration in my former care is evident on Dr. Cullen's face. He clears his expression when he sees I'm studying him.

"You're doing well, dear. The grafts were removed from the donor site and have been applied successfully. Now we just need to wait, manage your pain and give you time to heal."

There is something else in his eyes. Something he doesn't say, but it nags at him. He pats my hand gently as if the action will ensure his worry stays far away. He stands to leave, and I take my chance. I trust when I have no evidence to do so except for the look in his eyes.

"Dr. Cullen?"

"Carlisle, please, Mrs. Masen."

"All right, Carlisle, I'm Bella," I say, extending my hand. He takes it gently, and I shake hard enough to bring his eyes back to mine. "I want to see the records of my daughter's birth. I need to know what happened to her."

He nods and places my hand back beneath the bed covers. One hand is placed on my shoulder.

"I'll find out for you."

His eyes are sorrowful. He believes the hospital's story that Serena is dead. My eyes are determined.

~aa~

When I'm conscious enough to have another conversation, Nurse Platt becomes Esme. After she's done her rounds and her duties as my nurse, she sits at my bedside and reads a telegram she produces from her pocket.

Army Message Received August 15, 1944

This C in C message has been received from Lauren Mallory, Head Trauma and Burn Nurse. Mill Hill Emergency Medical Center, Harrow, UK – Message Begins –

All records regarding your patient have been forwarded with her transfer papers. Dr. Varner, her primary physician, has returned to the United States. I will continue my search for the infant's internment records but as gruesome as it is to relay, the reality of the war makes keeping up with records difficult at best. I will respond further if additional information is uncovered. – Message Ends -

Esme's eyes are sorrowful. She confides in me that she lost a child herself. I implore her to keep looking for the records. I know there are none, that she is not dead, but until I can get out of here and prove it for myself. I need to continue to pressure them in other ways. My father can help, but he hasn't come to visit. I fear he won't. I understand why, but I'm still sad. I am his child despite our efforts to conceal it. My fear is that something is bad and that he won't take any risks by putting our relationship on display. Maybe that is why the mission went wrong. It could have been dumb luck; it could have been something else. I don't know. _I just don't know._

_ Where are you, Edward? _I scream inside my head.

I know he's where he needs to be, but at times like this, despair fills me. It claws at my throat. It's worse than the pain in my legs or in my chest when I can't catch my breath

"_Right here," he vows. _

The image of him leaning over me fills my mind. We are at the old vicarage, and it is only days before he leaves me for the front.

"_Right here is where you'll find me," he says placing his hand against my chest and over my heart. "I'm always with you, baby. I'll never leave you."_

~aa~

Dr. Cullen is in my room. He is not for talking today. He is all business and I am thrown off kilter. He works on me as his patient. His humanistic side has been tucked down somewhere deep inside of him. When he's done, he assures me that the grafts are coming along nicely that there is no sign of rejection. He should be pleased, but his eyes are holding back. I know that look.

My breaths quicken as I try to steel myself. I know. I can read him before he even takes one step closer to my bed. I hear the scrape of the chair against the floor but can't see anything but my fingers twisting the end of my bed sheet. I know that look because I've seen it once before, on my father's face. I am seven years old again, standing in our kitchen. My father sits on a chair and draws me to him. His eyes are red and swollen. A clear liquid runs from his eyes and his nose. I am afraid. I've never seen my father cry. He is the bravest man I've ever known. It's not just the tears; it's the despondent look on his face. He sits there, looking at my eyes, but he doesn't see me, not really. He's looking through me. I stand there for a long time as he works to compose himself. Then he finally tells me, _my mother is gone._

I can't look at Carlisle. I fear he will tell me that another parent is no longer of this world. I stare through my fingertips wondering if someone got to him. Where? How could it have possibly have happened? _The war,_ I tell myself. _This God forsaken war._

"Bella," Carlisle calls softly.

I lift my eyes to him as he sits in the chair beside my bed. Esme comes through my door a moment later. Something passes between them. I look in her eyes and see pain that inches toward grief. I twist uncomfortably to stare at Carlisle's face. I brace for his words, remembering the words passed between my father and me when I entered this war.

"_Winning the war outweighs any single human life, even mine." _

I still believe this; I just never imagined it being applied to the larger than life Colonel Swan, my father.

"Bella, we received a telegram today. It was passed to us by Colonel Swan."

"He's alive?" I ask in stunned disbelief.

"Yes, the colonel is fine. The telegram was from a hospital in Marigny, France."

_Edward._

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Bella," Carlisle tries again, holding my hand tighter. "Your husband was part of an operation to break through the German defenses. He was out on a mission and his vehicle was struck by debris from of a bomb. Bella, I'm so sorry. You were listed as next of kin, but the information went to Colonel Swan first."

"NO!"

My voice is cracking and dry. I feel myself struggling for breaths as I scream.

"He's_ not_ dead. He wouldn't leave me. He swore he wouldn't leave me. He's not dead. You're wrong. They're wrong. He's not dead!"

I can feel myself flailing, struggling against their grasp. Carlisle is begging me to calm down and not disrupt the grafts. I can't breathe. I can't think. I don't want to begin to comprehend that he could be right. I'll have nothing else to live for. I try to halt my despair. I think of our baby. I know she's out there.

I take solace from wherever I can find it. _It's not the same._ I don't feel the pain of death like I did with my mother. The despair was so complete back then, an empty void, a swinging bridge, a chasm below my feet. I am not there. I feel a pin prick followed by the dull burn of the morphine that Esme has injected. The cool liquid seeps through me, pulling me deeper into the abyss. I stand at the edge of the bridge. It wavers in the wind.

_Please God,_ I call out.

He answers me. Edward and Serena are on the other side. Edward is smiling and holding his hand out to me. The bridge is strong and true. He's speaking, but I can't quite hear his words.

_I am back at the old vicarage again. I'm pleading with Edward. I don't want him to go. I'm safe with him. I'm home inside his arms._

"_Edward—" I try but the words catch in my throat. I wait a moment to compose myself then try again. This time I look in his eyes and his love gives me strength. "Edward, promise you'll come back to me. I know it's unfair. I know it's a promise I can't force you to keep, but I need to hear it. So promise me."_

"_I promise, love," he whispers against my heart. "I promise; I'll come back to you."_

~aa~

Two weeks pass. We don't talk of Edward. I refuse their attempts to help me grieve. It is futile. He's not dead. Unfortunately this also hinders my efforts to get information on Serena. I'm beginning to fear that they think I've lost my mind. I don't _think_ I have. For now, I need to keep quiet and get well. I can do nothing for them while I'm frozen in this hospital bed.

The pain is worse today. It's different but worse. I tell Esme I'm cold. She brings me a blanket and tucks it around me. Her hand brushes over my hair. I see her jaw tighten. Her training kicks in and before she can mask her face, I see it in her eyes. She is worried.

~aa~

I'm cold. I'm constantly cold.

Carlisle is in my room too many times a day for me to count. He's probably here even more than I realize as I sleep more often than I have in the past. There are new medications, new foods, new bandages. Carlisle continues to tell me that the grafts are doing well. This is a relief; I don't think I could go through that again. His eyes tell me more as he sits at my bedside and lifts my hand.

"Bella, you have an infection," his voice breaks and the feeling of defeat is nearly palatable. "We've tried so hard to keep this room sterile for you."

I nod. I know how much he cares for me. It is more than a physician to a patient. I feel like favored niece or adopted daughter. Esme wraps her arms around herself. Her lips purse, then roll between her teeth. I can feel the ache in her body and I want to comfort her.

"Esme?"

She wipes her face with her hands then places them firmly on her hips. She is determined. I see her eye Carlisle and he speaks for the both of them.

"Your body needs to fight the infection. We're going to try another round of sulfonamide, a stronger, more concentrated dose. You just have to get your rest and keep your fluids up."

It is not lost on me that Carlisle says _try_. He's going to _try_ another round of sulfonamide. He's running out of options. I see that the worry in their eyes has turned to denial. He is trying to find some way to succeed when nothing is likely to work.

My thoughts turn to my father. He's not here. If it were that bad, he would be here. This is how my mind protects me; I have my own denial to deal with myself.

~aa~

I am lucid and then I am not. It comes and goes as time passes. When I am awake, I shiver and quake to the point of tremors. Esme is always there. She reads to me. She strokes my head. She presses her cheek to mine as I fade into sleep. Her heart breaks. I can feel it. The pain of watching me suffer is etched across her face. I try. I rest. I drink and eat what I can. It's all for them, for my father, for Carlisle, for Esme, for Serena, for Edward. The pain is bad again. Esme relieves it. The dull burn comes first followed by more cold. The liquid spreads through my veins like ink on fine paper. I hear Esme hum to me, a soft lullaby, as I go deeper into the abyss. For the first time in a long time, I dream of pigtails, green eyes, bright copper hair and orange popsicles.

~aa~

"You can touch her," a voice calls softly.

I am on the fringe of consciousness. My brain registers pain, but I am not awake enough to really move or speak. I'm tired. I'm so tired. I just want to rest a little longer.

My hand is being lifted. My breaths come quicker. Something smooth rubs over my knuckles. It sweeps gently over and over. It is warm. _Finally,_ something feels warm. I love the warm. I want more warm.

My hand lifts higher. I feel moist pressure, soft skin and warm breaths. Over and over and over.

_Edward?_

I struggle hard against the haze, now pleading, willing my body to fully wake. I'm lost between the dream and the prayer. If the dream isn't real, I don't want to wake up. If it's a prayer, I beg God to answer me.

"I love you, Bella."

His voice cracks with emotion, but it's him. I swear on everything I hold dear that it's _him_.

My breath hitches and I finally feel released from the shackles of my medicinal prison. I have to find him. I have to open my eyes and see him for myself. I summon all of my strength and lurch forward in more movement than I've had in days. The pain is so strong. I try, God, I try, but I can't stifle the scream that falls from my lips. I squeeze the hand that holds mine. It squeezes back as I pull in a deep, agonizing gasp.

His warm arm surrounds my shoulders, pulling me into him. I feel his breaths on my neck. His hand is in mine, trapped between our two hearts. Once more I cry out, but the pain isn't in my legs, it's in my heart.

_He's here, he's here, he's here. _

I can't catch my breath long enough to speak, but my body reacts for me. I grasp at him, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. I need to feel more of him. My head falls forward in search of his heartbeat. It drums loudly and fast. In response he reaches up and runs his fingers through my hair and down my back. It's so familiar, so real, so him. He says the words again and this time I know for sure he's real, _he's alive_.

"I love you, Bella."

I weep. I cry that I was right. I cry in relief. I cry over the evidence that I'm not crazy. In this moment I do feel a little crazy and more than a bit light headed. I shouldn't cry. He's here. He's alive. And with every stroke of his hand and press of his lips, he eases my months of agony.

"You're here. My God, Edward, you're really here."

I nuzzle further into him. For a moment there are no words. I only feel. He nods over top of my head and moans so painfully and quietly that I'm sure that no one can hear his agony but me. I worry what the separation was like for him, how upset he must be to see me like this. His chest moves beneath me as he draws in a deep breath.

"I'm here, baby," he cries and holds me a little tighter. "I'm right here." The raw pain in his voice breaks me.

Yes, he's here. Yes, I'm finally cradled in the security of his arms. I will be all right. _We _will be all right

Minutes pass, I don't know how many nor do I care at least not until our bubble of serenity breaks. Out of the corner of my eye I see Esme step forward and reach for my left hand, the hand that is connected to an IV tube.

"No."

It's the first time I've ever been harsh with Esme, but my reunion with Edward won't be cut short by the haze of medication. I'd rather take the pain. He is better at relieving me than any pharmaceutical concoction could ever be.

Edward stalls in mid stroke and pulls back to look into my eyes. It's the first time I've seen his face since December. His eyes are frantic with worry, his skin ashen from not enough food or sleep. He's thinner than he was ten months ago but then, so am I. Still, deep within those green eyes is the man I fell in love with, the one I fought for, the one I survived for. He is beauty and strength. He is my hero, my savior. He is my future and the love I will live for and cherish for the remainder of my days.

"Half," he tells me. "They're going to give you half."

He nods at me. I hear his plea and see the fear in his eyes. He doesn't want me in pain like this. I admit, as soon as he says the words, my mind returns from the bliss of his presence, to the pain in my chest and my legs. I acquiesce and nod at him. Esme lifts my arm, and I feel the cool venom run through my veins. My body slackens, but I refuse to take my eyes from his. Esme steps back and releases us back to our relative privacy. The morphine takes hold, and although I'm awake, I know I am not fully conscious.

"That was a little more than half," I grouch.

He chuckled. This unfathomable pompous asshole has the nerve to laugh at me? If I didn't think I'd faint from the dizziness of the movement, I swear I'd roll my eyes at him. Still, his laughter is the sweetest sound I've heard in an eternity.

"I can never put anything over on you, but God, I do love you," he whispers sending a shiver down my spine.

I feel him loosen his grip and move away from me. Panic runs through my veins.

"I can't," I beg. "I can't let go of you."

He can't leave me again. I won't survive it.

"Don't put me down. _Please_."

Whatever worry was running through his head, releasing me to lie down apparently wasn't one of them. He hugged me tighter, giving me exactly what I need.

"Never."

His lips are on my cheek, running down to my neck. I am limp in his arms.

_God,_ _I've missed this man so much. _More tears begin to fall as I pray. _Thank you for bringing him back to me._

"Bella," Dr. Cullen calls from across the room. "Do you know what day it is today?"

I know. He knows. We both know.

"Thursday," I answer dejectedly.

They put me under on Thursdays to change my dressings.

"Please? I can take it," I beg, already knowing he won't allow me to remain conscious for the procedure.

It's better this way; I won't see the gore or be conscious of the pain. I understand this, but I don't want Edward to leave my sight. It's been too long. Too much fear still sits like an elephant on my chest.

"No," Dr. Cullen's voice is firm. He turns to Edward and continues. "She doesn't want to be put under to change her dressings. She wants to stay awake with you."

Dr. Cullen's stare is hard. I don't know what he's told Edward about my burns, but he must know enough as he eyes the tent resting over my legs. He swallows hard as he strokes my cheek with his hand.

"I won't leave you. Not even Colonel Swan's wrath could drag me away."

After all this time and distance he's still playful. He still can make me smile even in a situation like this. I can't help but give him what he asks for and smirk a bit in return. My shoulders shrug but even that tiny movement brings the pain back to the forefront of my mind. I don't want to, but I need to lie down. Edward goes from joking to panic in a half second. I want to calm him, reassure him that everything will be fine now that he's here, but I need to concentrate on breathing evenly through the pain. I don't want to worry him any more than he already is.

"Bella," Carlisle calls. "Edward needs to eat something, and we need to change your dressings. He'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."

A promise is a promise. I inwardly smile. Edward and I have both made our share. I stare into his eyes, looking for the truth within them. He is older, not in years but in experience. The war has aged him. There is fear there too. He's doing his best to hide it but it's there. I smile back at him. He's reading me as I am him.

_Look into my eyes, baby, see it. See me in here. I'm a mess right now, but I'm not going anywhere. _

Behind Edward stands Esme. She is stoic and professional before Edward, but I can feel the happiness radiating off of her. She lifts her hand to show me the next dose of morphine. I nod slightly. I'm ready. My lips are on Edward's neck as I whisper that I love him. His skin still smells the same. I can't get enough. The cool rush of the morphine hits my arm and begins to travel through my veins. The call of the drug is strong. It wills me to submit, to let go, to sleep. My free arm squeezes Edward tightly, but my grasp is weakening as the edges of my vision blur. His skin is slightly salty when my tongue edges between my lips for a taste. Just one more piece of validation for my brain, then I'll go. My lips travel up his skin, inching slowly towards his ear, pushing against the call of the darkness. When I can fight it no more, I draw a deep breath and I whisper my promise, my vow.

_Trust me, Edward._

"I will survive…for you."

My eyes close and my consciousness slips away. I've surrendered to the drug. The pain has won this battle, but with Edward by my side I _will_ win the war.

The End

* * *

><p><em>AN: _Thank you so much for following along with me on this journey. _I'm still writing but am taking a chance and entering the world of original fiction. If you're interested in learning about my writing you can visit my blog or send me a PM for updates._

_ If you've enjoyed this one shot_, _I'd encourage you to read my continuation of this story called _The Last Breath. There is also a follow on_ called The Long Way Home. I hope you'll give them a try._

_Thanks for reading and let me know what you think._

_-FirstBlush_

* * *

><p><strong>Surrender <strong>**Historical Research and Reference Guide:** part 2

**Story reference: **Dr. Cullen describes giving Bella sulfonamide to fight her infection.

**Historical Significance: **Before the prolific use of penicillin, Sulfa drugs help the body combat infection by inhibiting the growth and multiplication of bacteria.

**Source: **http:/www(dot)med-dept(dot)com/sulfa(dot)php


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